


A Moment Behind the Mask

by RubinaLadybug



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Drama, Gen, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubinaLadybug/pseuds/RubinaLadybug
Summary: Trouble crosses Daria’s path when she’s out running an errand. Lucky for her, an old teacher had been close by to help. One shot.
Kudos: 9





	A Moment Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Daria fanfic. I first watched the show sometime in 2013 through Amazon Prime. I absolutely loved the cartoon, the humor, its characters, and their stories. I read a handful of fanfics on Fanfiction, Daria Outpost, and PPMB, and was inspired to write my own. This was my first story in my new account. Enjoy!

_**A Moment Behind the Mask** _

“And so completes our time of raising the dead and causing mass panic in this listless town,” Daria stated, her deadpan tone infecting every word she spouted.

Three friends walked together on a clear, warm night. Two of them were recent high school graduates, and one was a slacker who played in a rock band.

“It’s what we do best,” Jane insisted. “Plus, it got Trent out of the house for a while.”

“I was busy preparing for band rehearsal,” Trent defended. “We gotta be in our best shape if we want to get anywhere.”

“You were sleeping for ten hours straight.”

“Huh, that doesn’t sound like my usual amount. No wonder I’m still beat.”

Lawndale citizens invaded the streets. People were enjoying the evening, some in groups and some alone. They overran the numerous shops and dined on the patios. They strolled, they conversed, they checked their watches, they gawked at the full displayed windows. The night mimicked any other. Only the temperature had risen, indicating the change into summer.

Jane took a few steps ahead of the group. She placed her hands on her hips and boldly proposed, “So now that we are outta that appalling high school, and Daria doesn’t need to worry about book reports until fall, are we now off to snatch orphans and harvest them for their organs?”

Perhaps that was Jane’s offbeat code for pizza. Their usual spot for grease, cheese, and soda was only a few steps away. But something infested Daria’s typical aloof mood. She forlornly muttered, “Oh, right, college.”

Sensing his friend’s dismay, Trent asked confused, “I thought you got into a good school. Don’t you and Janey have plans to, you know, hang out since your schools are close by?”

“It’s not the school,” Daria confessed. “It’s what’s going to come before it. You know…”

Jane humorously guessed, “Parents wanting to spend time with you before you get shipped off to another state?”

Daria nodded but also added, “And people who never liked you suddenly becoming mushy towards you while emitting goodbyes and other desultory departures.”

“Which is why you grab this situation by the horns and tell them off! Remember their surprised expressions that we had only imagined.”

Daria stopped walking, but her mind kept vibrating. Her friends halted as well. Her eyes landed on a drug store. “I have to pick up some paper towel rolls for the house. I’ll call you later.”

Willing to give her friend space, Jane shrugged. “If you insist.”

Trent nodded. “Later.”

Daria watched the Lane siblings leave. She had undergone emotional trials with the both of them. Jane was her first friend, and Trent was her first crush. Their bond withheld any hardships Lawndale dislodged. She would soon have to start over again. She would be moving to a new state and start a new education on a new campus. She would meet new people, some possible acquaintanceship, and others never noticing her. She would meet new instructors who will discharge hot air to show superiority over their pupils.

“How exciting,” she mumbled as she entered the drug store. “The only bright side is that no one can give you detention—only expulsion that will decay an academic career.”

At one time curfew restrained her freedom. She was now an adult, a high school graduate, and her parents respected her age. She did, however, agreed to appraise them for her whereabouts. Wanting to spend time out of the house, she nonchalantly browsed the small aisles. By habit she came across the short stack of books and glossy magazines that featured attractive people and product placement.

“Shallow topics for shallow people,” she quipped. Her eyes examined the books closer. Nothing inspiring. Nothing groundbreaking. Only more gossip and dribble. All for the sake of entertainment and money.

She continued her exploration, walking up and down the dense aisles with unorganized shelves. Other customers shopping moved away from the despondent-looking teen. She ignored their evident shuffle and eventually found herself in the kitchen section. She spotted the rows of paper towels. Despite her white lie, she grabbed the item.

“At least now the employees won’t expel me from the store and into the world of mass murderers and puppy kickers if just for a few minutes more.”

The drug store was a compact one. Having traveled everywhere, she headed towards the line. She developed the craving for junk food. She grabbed a chocolate bar and placed it on the conveyor belt. Working with the next customer in line, the cashier’s eyes met with Daria’s cold stare. He instantly busied himself with pressing buttons and scanning the items. Daria had grown accustomed to people avoiding eye contact. And she didn’t let it bother her. She paid for the items, accepted the paper bag, and exited the store.

Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her candy bar, unwrapped it, and proceeded to eat it. The sweet treat instantly melted in her mouth. She walked down the lit sidewalk, honestly reflecting her mind.

“ _I don’t care that most of the class hadn’t said a goodbye to me. Unless it was a school assignment, none of us reached out to each other. We all stayed in our own circles. Everyone followed the unhealthy engagement of popularity over individuality. Everyone obeyed the social order._

“ _But now that I’m finished with placing my boots in that institution, what more absurd activities will my tertiary education bring? What future protocols will people enforce me at Raft? I was admitted into that school on my own merits, sure, but will they try to have me surrender my values just like in high school? Does anyone believe in integrity?”_

She placed one hand on the side of her face. _“Looks like I’ll be doing what I’ve been doing before—staying in my room and wait for Jane to drag my ass around the city.”_

She stopped walking and turned around. Less and less people came her way. Only a couple of vehicles zoomed past. The night played on while the city divulged another setting.

“ _Get it together, Morgandorffer. The stalker convention is next week. That’ll give you plenty of time to finish your cards that have your home address to pass out.”_

She faced forward and walked, holding her paper bag tighter. With the growing silence of the town, she noticed footsteps matching her speed. Her balanced heartbeat steadily increased.

Lawndale was filled with imbeciles—citizens who valued trivial matters over intelligent ones. That was expected. But that didn’t mean troublemakers never swung by. Burglars had raided the Lawndale coffeehouse. Twice. People claimed to have had aliens abduct them. And ghost stories roamed the land.

“ _Am I going to be the next haunting story in Lawndale?”_

Everyone has instincts, and Daria couldn’t ignore the alarm blaring in her mind. She quickened her pace. Her combat boots were made for style, not running. But such attention to blisters subsided as adrenaline took control. The footsteps behind her grew louder and faster. She cut across the street to lose whatever was trailing her. Her mind didn’t fear any vehicles rocketing by; there weren’t any. Wind whipped across her face. The streetlights provided little light as many had burnt out. She bore trouble seeing where she was heading. But it didn’t matter. All she knew was that she needed to get away.

Behind her she heard a crash and a yelp followed by a string of swear words. Using this small trace of luck, she pushed herself even more to race. She darted through a parking lot and cut a tight corner. Yet no matter how much her feet sprinted against the cracked concrete and the worn-out pavement, she could still hear that matching stride.

Out of a convenience store stepped a tall man wearing khakis and a crooked black tie. He lit up a cigarette. The flash of light burned brightly against the darkness. The calming aroma of burning tobacco and nicotine tainted his air. “Damn end of the year FACULTY meeting. WASTE of time. At least now I WON’T NEED to deal with Ms. Li for three months. I just need to avoid Timothy and THAT SHE-DEVIL.”

His bruised eye still felt that twinge. Looking up, he caught a suspicious young fellow running, pursuing. He had seen these instances before. The night was a beautiful time to hunt prey. His instincts kicked in.

Never one for exercise, Daria’s lungs burned. The other imprints relentlessly tailed her own. She headed down a barren sidewalk. She cut sharply and found herself in a dead-end alley. All that was left was her, a dented dumpster, some abandoned crates and cardboard boxes, a rusty pipe, and a large pothole. The small lightbulb flickered. She panted.

“ _Fantastic navigational skills, Morgandorffer.”_

She heard the dreaded footsteps once more. And now they have halted. She reeled around and saw her assailant—a young adult only a year or two older than his target. He wore an orange sweatshirt, stonewashed jeans, and worn-down sneakers. His wide grin was unnerving. He spat out his toothpick.

“Hey, girl, what chyou be running for? This town doesn’t got much going on.”

The brunet girl found no comfort in his dialect. She knew that she was cornered. Her keen mind was overtaxed. Her body became a block of ice.

“ _Dammit, Morgandorffer! Move! Call for help! Yell fire to get someone’s attention!”_

Her heart pounded as he prowled closer. She tried to keep her eyes on him while urgently searching for any exits. She understood that she wouldn’t be swift enough to race around him, and she lacked the muscles to take him head on. Having no other option, she submissively place out her paper bag for a chance to make it out of this situation unscathed.

The hoodlum enjoyed an easy score. He eagerly snatched her paper bag, causing her to flinch. Frustration and disappointment overcame his face upon finding only the paper towels, a receipt, and a crumpled up candy wrapper. Nothing valuable to steal. Nothing priceless to sell. He bitterly snapped, “Where’s your purse?!”

“ _Back in Nigeria along with my diamond necklace and gold earrings.”_

Daria uneasily backed away. She often used her sharp tongue to defend herself against others. None of her former classmates brought any physical aggression towards her. Her lips were frozen. She was defenseless. She did what she did best—she tried to make herself invisible among the darkness. Her heart nearly exploded when she saw him raising his fist.

The mugger lost his patience. He prepared to launch his attack when a firm hand snagged his wrist, halting its motion. He turned and saw a tall man.

Daria’s eyes widened as well.

“Don’t you EVER lay a hand on a LADY!” a familiar gruff voice commanded.

The felon tried to break away from the man’s sturdy hold. “This ain’t your business!”

“I’m MAKING it mine!”

The punk liberated himself and was ready to defend his greed.

Accepting the challenge, the once solider placed up his fists. The concrete converted into soil. The cardboard boxes and crates became thick leaves and branches. Despite his age, the man permitted his training to take control. He effortlessly dodged the random punches and muddled kicks the crook served.

“ _Amateur,”_ he judged. _“Nothing special outside street fighting.”_

Fighting dirty, the lawbreaker aimed a kick for the man’s shin. He greatly missed as Mr. DeMartino jumped away. The hoodlum snatched a few pebbles off the ground and launched them at his own assailant. He had terrible aim. He directed a punch and struck only air. He nearly lost his balance.

The wavering light made the battle tough. Mr. DeMartino felt his heart hammer from adrenaline and his age. His lungs ached. He delivered three good blows, possibly breaking the guy’s nose, yet the boy kept his stamina. The criminal was sporadic, but he had his youth. He tried to tackle the tall man and slammed into the wall.

Mr. DeMartino evaded the careless assault. However, his bad eyes overlooked the pothole. One foot landed in the fragmented ground. He tripped and missed hearing a concerned gasp from the shadows. He rolled towards his side and brought himself to one knee. Wheezing, he kept his focus on the dazed bandit, who had scrapped his cheek against the coarse wall. The delinquent was prepared to launch another right hook when he banged his shin against a stack of crates, knocking them over and causing a clatter. He howled in pain.

Aside from that minor setback of falling, Mr. DeMartino felt no challenge coming from the strayed youth. He gathered his dwindling strength and stood up. Conversely, he needed to end the match before his own hoary body shuts down. He also needed to complete his undertaking.

“ _I can’t have this punk hunt another victim should he bolt. I need to teach him a lesson.”_

The shaky light reflected off a dull, silver surface. His good eye caught a pole on the ground.

“ _Something that I’m always eager to do.”_

Crouching down, he avoided the slovenly barrage of fists. He swiped the pipe and rose it above his head. Using his massive strength, he struck a powerful blow to the culprit’s temple. Blood stained the rusty metal.

The robber clamped his eyes in pain. Stepping backwards, he tried to maintain his balance.

“There’s plenty more WHERE THAT CAME FROM!”

Covering his injury, the thief fled.

The gruff man huffed. His surroundings slowly morphed from a wet, humid forest to a settling night in the city. Modern cars zoomed away. Crickets softly chirped. People wearing trendy clothing shuffled by. The cool night continued on, proceeding with its joys and its wounds that will be lapsed once the sun rises.

He turned to the mugger’s prey. “Are you all right Miss—”

He cut himself off when the rickety light illuminated the hefty black boots, the voluminous burnt auburn hair, and the trademark large glasses. “Morgendorffer?!”

Daria shared the unexpected reaction seeing her former teacher. Her widened eyes blinked. Trying to control her trembling mouth, she whispered, “Mr. DeMartino…”

Dumbfounded, the two stood across from each other.

She shouldn’t be surprised by his strength. This was the same man who had ripped a sink from a wall and hurled it against a window for freedom last summer. He had also subsisted plunging from a cliff in the mountains last winter. He just now displayed his fantastic combat prowess. He impaired her attacker. He saved her.

He gaped at the recent graduate. She was one of his best students. In a realm where pupils fruitlessly searched for an identity, she callously displayed confidence. While she held one answer to every academic question, she spurted two sarcastic remarks in place. She stood up for her ethics. She discarded appearances. And she gave a striking, satirical speech for her Diane Fossie Award. He hadn’t expected to run into her again so soon. And in a grave situation.

Collecting himself, he gently asked, “Miss Morgandorffer, are you alright?”

Daria only nodded, far too distressed to speak.

A bewildered hush came over the pair once more. Situations like these can take a far worse turn. He studied her clothing; her green jacket remained button, her pleated skirt covered her waist, and her round glasses stayed on her face. She didn’t appeared disheveled. Calming himself down, he enquired with concern in a low voice, “Did he hurt you in any way?”

She shook her head and heard him sigh with relief. The calmness was then interrupted by his coughing. The exhilaration and the building tar in his lungs blocked his air.

He spotted her uneasiness. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just old.”

He tried to mask his grunt. _“Did I just mention my age to a past student who had witnessed that damn Randy assaulting my leg at the Faculty-DJ roller hockey game two years ago? Being one of the oldest members on the school’s faculty sucks. I hate to admit it; I’m getting soft.”_

Daria relaxed her breathing. Controlling herself for a moment, she uttered, “Um, thanks.”

The crotchety man watched her gather her dropped items. Strangers would believe the girl carried an attitude of stone. But he spotted her trembling hands and heard her uneased breathing. She was never a problem in class. She was not his problem now. Yet seeing a past student in distress, a bright one with a bright future, he felt obliged to do something.

He sheepishly placed one hand behind his head. “Let me take you home.”

* * *

The drive to the Morgendorffer’s domain was one in silence. The pair had only needed to walk from the alley to the convenient store for the parked vehicle. Mr. DeMartino focused on the vacant road, and Daria stared at her black boots. Her beaten paper bag sat next to her footwear. Bursts of light and darkness from the transient streetlights flooded the car. The gentle blow of the A/C cooled their overheated flesh. The radio quietly played inaudible noises.

Periodically Mr. DeMartino peered over towards the passenger seat. Daria wasn’t one for idle chit chat; he never needed to worry about his misdeed of smashing the window at the OK To Cry Corral spreading to the higher ups. While she was an astute student, a “brain” as countless former classmates labeled her, even a witty soul needed some recovery time. He noticed her clinched fists. He couldn’t force her to speak. He figured it would be best to drive on in reticence.

Daria appreciated the stillness. She never drew attention to herself, so people left her alone. She pondered if she wanted that insignia the rest of her life. She was content with it. Until she attended Lawndale High. The classmates were like magazine stories—flimsy, vapid, and forgettable. Once in a while she came across someone who had something interesting to offer.

Keeping most of her body stagnant, she looked at her past teacher; he had only called on her after hearing abysmal answers to his textbook questions and was searching for something intelligent. She expected little from teachers, them having given up on students, offered nothing but impotent gibberish, or have grown corrupted and languid. Despite all his groans regarding his pedestrian occupation and managing bonehead pupils, Mr. DeMartino rarely missed a day in class.

A deadpan voice broke the peaceful drive. “Why are you still a teacher?”

Mr. DeMartino, startled by the sudden noise, glanced at the girl. “I beg your pardon?”

She looked at him the same way she had in class. Her voice had not dithered. “There’s a copious amount of studying future educators need to know and pass in order to be employed, even for public schools. The stress level is high, and it worsens when working with dolts. But you stayed.”

Mr. DeMartino didn’t understand her sudden interest in his profession. He believed, though, it was a way for them to speak while abstaining from the horrible attack. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on majoring in Education, Miss Morgandorffer. Surely you found a better field of study. You’re too bright to be persuaded into the THANKLESS position.”

Daria gave no verbal response. She only kept her eyes on him.

Recalling his established strains and the terrors that awaited him next school year, he tightened his grip over his tattered steering wheel as his voice grew louder. “I hate to burst your caustic BUBBLE, but there’s no special REASON I’ve stayed inside that same classroom FOR YEARS.”

He examined her once more. Her facial expression, though steady, pressed for more information. Perhaps he can spare her his mistake. Finding it positive that the girl was speaking, he inhaled to calm himself down. “As anyone can guess, I’m a veteran. My only presumption why vets don’t teach is that they tend to go into other services such as police officers and fire fighters. Chances are Ms. Li only employs me to increase her own eminence.”

He wildly grinned, “But there have been a plethora of occasions where I was prepared to throw in my resignation and never set foot inside that shameful establishment again.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that. And Ms. Li denies anyone quitting while teaching class. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you still a _teacher_? You’ve attended military school, you’re a war vet, and you’re head of the teacher’s union. You know how to keep students in line. And you just now handed that mugger’s ass to him…”

“Is there a particular STANCE you are looking to make, Miss Morgandorffer? Or are you trying to inflate my ego in hopes of rewards?”

“Rather than return to the classroom, why not commandeer Ms. Li’s position? It’ll be doing the school and future students a favor. Out of all the faculty at Lawndale High, you seem the most qualified… when the Kevin Thompsons and the Brittany Taylors aren’t causing your aneurisms.”

“Heh, I must say that I appreciate your sharp MEMORY and your ACERBIC praise… But such an idea has its drawbacks. Even if I was in that position, while I would welcome the trifling pay raise, I’d still end up with the same KEVINS and BRITTANYS only in my office.”

“With them and others upholding the system where sports and popularity continue their rule over the school while anything intellectual gets ignored.”

“A pragmatic sentiment in you seeing me in a higher position, Miss Morgandorffer. I have given the idea of changing careers some thought. It’d be a CINCH to find dirt on Ms. Li. She walks on thin ice ever since her deals with the Brutal Mercenary group and the Ultra Cola company. Those incidents don’t disappear just because they vacated the feeble minds of your once classmates. But even if I had SUCCEEDED in her resignation and obtained that PROFESSION…”

Seeing the red traffic light, Mr. DeMartino stopped the car. He looked at his frayed steering wheel and lowered his head. “…I’d be the one in a chair in an office… not in a classroom doing the actual teaching, making a difference in a student’s life.”

He soon realized what he revealed. He shouldn’t dangle any signs of hope for that disgruntling career path. The light turned green, and he pressed the accelerator. “Don’t waste your TIME in Education, Miss Morgandorffer. Your evenings and weekends VANISH with planning lessons that students will DISREGARD, grading WRETCHED papers, and attending INANE school functions. I only came to those asinine FOOTBALL GAMES as Ms. Li mandated teachers attend a NUMBER of them.”

Daria faced the window. “Don’t worry. I’ll allow remorse to control my life in a different way.”

The last few blocks passed on calmly. She accepted his honest response. _“He has regrets, no doubt about that, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to surrender his values. Even with all the idiotic quandaries at Lawndale High and dealing with ingrates, he believes in his noble cause.”_

She glanced at him once more. _“In spite of his virtuous mission, I shouldn’t ask him if he’s prepared to handle Kevin for another school year. I don’t need a driver getting a heart attack right now.”_

The timeworn car arrived in a mundane neighborhood to a two-story home shrouded in darkness, signaling that all its residence had retired to their own bedroom. The car door unlocked. Daria was now only a few steps away from true liberation. She stared at her goal but was uneased by the nightfall. She unclenched her fists and reached for the raggedy handle; her hand was slightly shaking.

Seeing his former student still rattled, he opened his door and walked around towards the passenger side.

Daria stepped out. Holding her paper bag, she kept her eyes off the brusque man. “Um, thanks for the ride… And for what you did back there….”

He flaccidly shrugged. “Another day in teaching a simpleton a lesson.”

She heard him brushed off his turbulent encounter like flicking off a mosquito. She decided to retract her previous statement. “Forget I encouraged principal. Go into correction facility officer. At least you’ll get to carry around a baton.”

Having taught a contemptuous student for three years, Mr. DeMartino was one of the few who could dispel her sarcasm from her authenticity. He smirked with pride. “The pay is probably better there. And better health benefits, too.”

His eyes fell onto the brunette, and he caught her giving one of her derisive smiles. “Miss Morgandorffer, regardless of the moronic imbeciles you and I were force to deal with, you have always been an exceptional student. Not only in my class, but in Lawndale High. You fully deserve that Diane Fosse Award. I expect you to continue to do well in your first year in college.”

He then added genuinely, “But if you ever need a little extra help… you can always ask me.”

Daria felt her cheeks grow hot. She called people out on their egotistical hypocrisy, she spotted anyone pulling farcical scams, yet her aloof character miffed candid praise. She sought a broad response. “Uh, tha—”

A nearby bush rustled uncontrollably.

“Eep!” Daria yelped, dropping her paper bag.

The gruff man swiftly stood in front of the cynical girl. He clinched his fists and placed his guard up. Daria felt her heart pound as her body instinctively placed her own arms up for protection. Their eyes focused on the rickety shrub. The two prepared themselves for an assault when they spotted something small and furry leaping out. It was only a raccoon now racing across the street.

Mr. DeMartino relaxed. He turned to Daria and was about to speak when she unleashed a startling gesture.

She tightly embraced him. Considering how he protected her, she released that secluded shackle she carried tightly for many years. She shook hysterically but buried herself in his chest to earnestly show her gratitude.

He stood for a moment stunned. She had declined a wry quip and opted for a compassionate act. Accepting the warmhearted moment, he wrapped his own arms around her in recognition.

**The End**


End file.
